


conspiracy of the universe (you’re my hearts purpose)

by betteronpaper



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pregnant Clarke, This is, a lovely book, and clarke and lexa being in love, but i dont know, but i hope it helps, canon AU, clexa getting married, disgusting really, i love these two so much, in someway, like it's fluffy but im horrible at the fluff metre, marcus and lexa playing chess, nothing - Freeform, set in polis, there's book quotes, this isn't much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betteronpaper/pseuds/betteronpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus brings in a chess set and Lexa is intrigued, everyone is happy, and existence is beautiful.</p><p>I have more words inside, but this work is for healing, and dedicated to clexa, to the fandom, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this post http://100hearteyes.tumblr.com/post/139594530757/momentary-ecstasy-i-need-a-scene-where-kane-is

Until now I wasn’t much inspired to write due to the quality content the show was providing regarding clexa. But now there is an ache, a dread and need so large. I don’t want the clexakru to disappear and part. I don't want writers to stop writing, artists to stop creating, editors to stop editing. And I don’t want the pain to blind the _love_  of Lexa and Clarke, how _profound_ and _beautiful_ and _cosmic_ it is, and forever will be. They’re soul mates, and I want to write their love, their dynamic, to celebrate it. Because lord knows their love was the love of legends, not even fairytales, but legends. I won’t forget clexa. I wont. I vow not to in my heart. I hope to write for clexa for as long as their love inspires me, if I'm able, I hope to write a season 3 au that endorses that love is strength, and not weakness, and not death, and after struggle and strife you're rewarded. To quote these lovely words, that will embody all I write for clexa:

 

I think we deserve a soft epilogue,

my love.

We are good people

and we’ve suffered enough

\- Seventy Years of Sleep, nikka ursula

* * *

 

 

            Lexa sat in a lounge chair, her mind preoccupied by the words she read, the book sitting comfortably in her hands. The room was silent, lit a gentle gold by the flickering flames of candles and sunlight through the windows, the thin drapes; the entirety of it all with the weather was soothing, and if Lexa had the mind she could have dozed – it would not have been the first time. But despite the luxury of leisurely reading, despite the beauty of the day that made sitting inside almost a crime, the day wasn’t one of total relaxation. While Lexa’s mind was not thinking of the meeting to be, she knew once started it would take most of the day, would turn the hours to the late afternoon when the sky would be yawning and darker. So for now she enjoyed the blue of the heavens and quietness of the room high in the tower, enjoyed the automatic rising and fall of her chest as her heart pumped steady, enjoyed the comfort of the chair and the texture and smell of the book in her hand and most of all she enjoyed the words she read that filled up her mind almost entirely:

_“Don’t say anything,” Fatima interrupted. “One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”_

_But the boy continued, “I had a dream, and I met with a king. I sold crystal and crossed the desert. And, because the tribes declared war, I went to the well, seeking the alchemist. So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”_

_The two embraced._

 

            She liked these words, thought of Clarke in them, and she read further until a voice outside her mind reached her ears.

            “Where’s Clarke?”

            Lexa looked up to Kane, to Marcus, nodded minutely in greeting as he sat down across her, in a larger lounge, a couch, placing a box on the knee-height table between them.

            “She’ll return. She went to find Abby for the meeting.”

            Marcus smiled, kind and open and with a lightness that spoke of an absence of worry, and nodded to her book.

            “Reading in the mean time?”

            Lexa glanced down to the open page, then to Marcus; and because the day was beautiful and her time enjoyed, and she considered Marcus, Kane, a friend, a trusted confident, and because such serious worries in comparison to the past have been so absent for both of them, Lexa’s lips upturned at the corners. Marcus was glad Lexa smiled more these days, at least that he has seen.

            “Yes. It’s a favourite of Clarkes… _The Alchemist._ I started it yesterday.”

            “Yesterday? It looks like you’ve nearly finished it,” Kane noted, sat forward in his chair.

            “It’s simple to read but meaningful. I think it might be one of my favourites as well.”

            “I’ll be sure to give it a look then.”

            Continuing with his intentions, Marcus opened the box he brought – it was wooden, aged and worn and it unfolded to form a solid flat surface, save for the short borders, covered in squares of a deep brown and a lighter, cream shade. Lexa’s interest piqued, recognising it to be a game of sorts given the pieces that spilled out from the once-box-now-board object.

            She closed the book, memorizing the page and set it on the corner of the table in front of her. Mirroring Kane’s stature, Lexa leaned forward as he moved the pieces to a standing position, lining them up along the first two rows in front of him, and the last two rows from him.

            “And what’s this?”

            Marcus’s smile never left, but his face lightened again, a shining to his eyes, that brought a smile forth from Lexa as well. Smiles had a tendency to be contagious, she had read.

            “This is called Chess.”

            “Chess?”

            She had read such a thing, she thought, vaguely familiar with the word and concept. Clarke may have spoken it to her. She missed the blonde at the thought of her, suddenly wishing her presence. Then again, she was always longing for Clarke.

            “Hm. It’s an old strategy game – goes back centuries, possibly millenniums, or some version of it. I found it in one of the markets before I came here; no one seemed to know what it was. I traded my watch for it.”

            “And what is the aim of this game?”

            “To capture the king. See…” and Marcus, with quiet passion and love, proceeded to explain the pieces and their movements and the rules, and it was not long that Lexa understood the mechanisms, with Marcus only needing to explain once, and they started the game.

 

            Lexa studied the board intensely, as Marcus watched her. He didn’t know the count of games they played but it must have been an hour, though he wouldn’t know since he no longer had his watch. He was good at chess, had played it many times on the Ark, in Arkadia, and was one of the better players around. Still, Lexa had bested him again and again, his victories near nil. He watched calmly and quietly and with intrigue as Lexa, just as she did most times, gave long thought to her moves before making them – eyes darting and lingering all over the board. He could never predict the strategy that formed in her mind. He watched her now and thought he might this time. Then:

            “Why did you sacrifice that bishop? It’s more valuable.”

            He blinked at the sudden question.

            “Well…”

 

            Clarke walked in and found them, her mother trailing behind. She stood by the door and watched Kane and Lexa talking as they moved pieces and she watched Lexa’s smile, small but sincere and beauty unlost. She watched and felt nostalgia at the game and felt in love. All this was a moment, one or two or three or maybe five.

            “I think the meeting might be awhile longer,” she said, not loudly, not disruptively, to her mother.

            It looked like Lexa and Kane had started a game recently, not many pieces taken or moved.

            “I think you might be right.”

            They walked, Abby sitting down beside Marcus and he looked to her with a smile, shared it with her as she placed a hand on his knee and he placed a hand on hers, squeezing affection, before their gaze turned to the game and Lexa. Lexa didn’t look away from the board at all, not a peep, as Clarke came near her, sat down on the couches armrest. Lexa took Clarke’s hand and kissed it, held it, eye’s never straying from the game as she made her next move. Clarke smiled and fought the urge to kiss the commander, this gentle warlord. 

            Abby saw it all and felt the lightness of gratitude and joy at knowing, at seeing, her daughter in love and so dearly loved. She remembered when she found out, that time ago. Dears in a headlight (was that the saying?), they were caught hands in hair and on hips and lips clinging. They were so young in that moment, and while they may have felt embarrassment and coyness or – whatever they felt, Abby could still remember the relief, the surprise, at them, at a life beyond survival for her daughter. She had guessed, had pondered and mused before then, of course. It was in their eyes when they looked at each other, in their smiles and the way they danced that time. The eyes never lie.

            “How long has this been going on?”

            Marcus glanced to Abby, “Long enough.”

            “I like this game.”

            “Well you keep winning.”

            “I’m good at strategy.”

            “Maybe you should go against Clarke; on the Ark she played Chess all the time.”

            “Mum.”

            But Lexa looked to Clarke and smiled, eyes sparkling, and Clarke was smiling too, toothless, all lips, but full and beautiful, knowing they would have games later. Clarke looked at the board and the game and the positions and leaned into Lexa, bent a little, to whisper in Lexa’s ear and the commander smiled and nodded and –

 

            Marcus lost, the final time that day not soon after. It was a longer game, with Clarke pointing out strategies for both sides that had moves revealed and the whole game up in the air, but it was fun affair, of smiles and laughter and silence. It felt normal and more than surviving, and not at all like a day of business.

            “Were there more of these at the market?”

            “No. It was just the one.”

            “I’ll commission for more to be made. The bishop reminds me of Titus.”

            Clarke laughed, a soft and short sound, “A little bit.”

            “You could make a Polis set,” Marcus suggested, amused, “with the rook as the tower.”

            Lexa nodded, liking the idea, smiling and turned to Clarke, “How do you think Octavia would take her carved on a horse as the knight?”

            “Either she’d think it was cool or comment how much of a nerd you are.”

            “She wouldn’t dare,” Lexa smiled, smirked.

            “We’ll go on ahead,” Abby rose, Marcus following, “tell them you’ll be with us shortly. Don’t dawdle.”

            “Next time, Commander.”

            Left alone and unbothered by their appointment, by time and duties, Lexa tugged on Clarke’s arm, the girl sliding from the armrest to Lexa’s lap, comfortable. One of Clarke’s arms rested on Lexa’s shoulder, hand brushing brown hair and caressing skin of jaw and cheeks and ears – all the while silent. There was the barest hint of a smile, a ghost of one, so faint, on Clarke’s lips, while her eyes loved and adored and admired, enamoured, with the woman in front of her. She was in love, was in peace, with Lexa. The words didn’t feel adequate to describe the tranquillity that fell over them, but it was warm, a blossoming presence in her being and heart and chest and an extension of her soul, Clarke knew. She knew so much then. And Lexa was smiling, openly, entranced and devout, so much so that Clarke’s smile grew and became prominent that when they leaned into kiss it was all smiles and pecks, until they held each other with their lips, safe, soft and tender. This was home. They knew. Foreheads rested a moment, having missed the contact, till Clarke shifted to the open and unset board that she had always likened to life in many ways.

            “Are you going to make the king you?”

            Lexa kissed Clarke’s cheek then glanced to the game.

            “No. You will be the king, I will be the queen. The pawns will be Nightbloods.”

            “I think I’d rather be the queen, I mean it’s going to a Polis set.”

            But Lexa shook her head, leaned a little to kiss Clarke firmly, with tamed passion, short but sincere and leaving Clarke with want of more as eyes poured into swirls of green and grey, “The queen can be sacrificed, to further victory, with or without the promise of a pawn reaching the end to bring back a piece of choice, such as the queen. Like how Nightbloods can all potentially become Heda. And the queen is the most powerful piece, yes? I think that fits.”

            “But the king – ”

            “Is irreplaceable,” Lexa affirms, then, more softly, eyes beautiful and tender and hands on Clarke’s face, thumb stroking cheek and neck and very much a means to distract Lexa from kissing the girl, “you’re irreplaceable.”

            A ghost, a hint, small but substantial in effect, of a smile, familiar and loving and kind and that quietness, Clarke was falling evermore. It struck her, how these moments, these moments of safety and words of tenderness and devotion always froze time, made her feel out of time, forgetting what century and world she was in. Lexa smiled, liked this effect, and kissed Clarke at the very corner of her lips, only for Clarke to chase them and demand more, for a moment, one or two or three or maybe five. When they parted Lexa smiled with her eyes, and she turned, and Clarke rose from Lexa’s lap, and Lexa moved to put the pieces back in starting positions, the silence comfortable, while Clarke picked up the book on the side, looked at it fondly.

            “What page are you up to?”

            “The end of one-thirty-two.”

            Clarke stood and flipped the pages, found it, aware of Lexa’s presence joining her, arms wrapped around her middle from behind and breath ticking her neck and ear.

            “I like this book.”

            “I thought you might.”

            “For the same reasons you do?”

            Clarke bent and put the book back down on the table, “Yeah.”

            “You’re my heart.”

            “Well aren’t you just romantic today.”

            Smiling, their finger intertwined a tapestry and tangling of souls, and Clarke didn’t fight pressing her lips to Lexa again. It must have been the day and the warmth and the words that prompted such momentous enamour all in such a spurt of time, in such a constraint, when they didn’t have the luxury of tangling limbs in sheets and sharing air with gasps and moans.

            “I’ve been told I’m very smooth.”

            “From a very biased source.”

            “I hold her in high esteem, and she’s often always right.”

            “Only often?” Clarke grinned, and her arms were around Lexa’s neck, pushing for time, and Clarke glanced down and a hand played at the seams of clothing, the lace, on Lexa’s shoulder. When Clarke spoke next her voice was softer, strong still, but cautious, important and fragile and yet still, somehow firm and grounded, because the moment was such, standing on the solidity of love.

            “You know… I’ve been thinking…”

            “How dangerous.”

            “Shut up,” Clarke laughed, and they swayed.

            Something about the day, the book and the game and the love, and Clarke knew, “How about we be spontaneous and… announce a marriage?”

            “I didn’t know Lincoln and Octavia were getting remarried.”

            “Oh my god,” Clarke pushed Lexa away, turning, and smiling and Lexa was grinning as her hand tugged Clarke back into her embrace, her face now soft, now meaningful, and so very close with a ghost and fight of a smile.

            “Clarke.”

            “Don’t you want to?”

They spoke quietly now.

            “Always.”

            Clarke’s eyes were sparkling, were constellations, like that night when she first bandaged Lexa’s hand, and that smile – it was Lexa’s favourite, one of them.

            “I had planned to ask your mother,” Lexa admitted, eyes earnest, “and…make it special.”

            “This still feels pretty special.”

            “There’s something,” the commander nodded, quirked a corner of her lips.

            “C’mon, let’s go send everyone into a ruckus.”

            “I don’t think there will be much protest as you expect. We are practically already – ”

            “ _Lexa_ , let me have my fun.”

            And she laughed and let her be hand dragged by the woman, with a glance back to the book and the page left open and the words there, how Clarke was her heart and that’s how she related to it all, and this – this, her life, her present and future, this was happiness, was living.

 

 

_“Why do we have to listen to our hearts?” the boy asked, when they had made camp that day._

_“Because, whenever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”_

_“But my heart is agitated,” the boy said. “It has its dreams, it gets emotional, and it’s become passionate over a woman of the desert. It asks things of me, and it keeps me from sleeping many nights, when I’m thinking of her,”_

_“Well, that’s good. Your heart is alive. Keep listening to what it has to say.”_


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bed talk, wedding feels, some dancing and all round clexa loving + more alchemist quotes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you wanted more...so voila! there is actually more that i could write for this *cough* pregant clarke *cough* but this got long enough already so. yeah. let me know if you want that after this. i dont think i ever wrote so fast for a post aha, anyway, enjoy!! there's a lyric reference from 'venus' by sleeping at last in there btw, can you spot it?

            “Come up here.”

            “No.”

            “I can’t kiss you from down there.”

            Lexa grinned, and Clarke felt it against her stomach, felt and watched the kiss Lexa placed there before the brunette settled her head, her cheek, against the skin, snuggled closer and comfortably. Clarke smiled small and sincere, and continued the stroking of her fingers, a feathery and fragile touch, against Lexa’s forearm, while her other hand rested in Lexa’s hair, free and loose, by her neck, her face. She wanted this moment locked in key, bottled up, shelved with all the other tender moments, the galaxy of them. To her soul, she just wanted the woman closer, all contact and no space.

            “Please.”

            “This is my favourite position,” Lexa sighed, glanced up, “You’re very comfortable.”

            “I can think of other favourite positions.”

            “Oh?”

            Clarke felt the grin again, the turning of Lexa’s head, green eyes beautiful and happy looking up to her, naked, body barely covered by the bedsheets.

            “Just come up here.”

            “Or…” Lexa smiled, smirked, “I could go down.”

            She was already shaking her head, though her body betrayed her as Lexa kissed, mouth hot down her abdominal and navel, to her hips and pelvis and thighs and –

            “Oh god,” Clarke breathed, arched a little, eyes fluttered and heart pulsing and body thrumming as Lexa spelled magic with her tongue.

            “Do you still want me up there, Clarke?”

            Even there, she felt the woman smirk, and all Clarke wanted was to kiss those lips, though that was now a lie. She wanted less innocent things too, her mind dizzy, excited and full of the woman between her legs.

            “You finish what you started.”

            Lexa laughed, the vibrations felt all through Clarke, the sensation tingling. She kissed the blondes inner thigh and then the room was filled with moans and praise, the gripping of hair, skin and sheets and the afternoon was gone entirely.

           

            After, when the room was mostly lit by the setting sun and candles casting shadow and light, and the air was hotter and Clarke’s skin sweatier and she was spent from Lexa’s tongue and fingers and worships, she felt Lexa settle against her again, cheek on stomach.

            “No, come up.”

            “You are very demanding,” Lexa chuckled.

            “Hearts are like that,” Clarke sighed, still in the afterglow.

            “I should have never have told you.”

            “ _You will never be able to escape your heart. So it is better to listen to what it has to say._ You have to listen to me.”

            “I really do like that book.”

            “Memorised all those quotes.”

            “Let’s read it again.”

            “Come here,” and Lexa was tugged, was coerced and she moved up Clarke’s torso, leaving short and sweet kisses.

            Clarke pulled Lexa close, skin on skin, and was engulfed in the warmth of Lexa. She kissed the brunette soundly, tenderly and yearningly, tasting herself, but more of Lexa. She could keep kissing her, for eternity she could, settling on small pecks and smiles and tongue and lips, mouth to mouth, mouth to cheek and jaw and eyes. Lazily, they kissed, lazily Lexa rested on Clarke’s side, as not to crush with weight, and lazily, lovingly, Clarke gazed. Her fingers danced over Lexa’s cheek, jaw and neck, settled on Lexa’s waist, keeping her close.

            “You’re clingy tonight,” Lexa spoke softly, pillow-talk.

            The blonde quirked a smile, little but there – one of Lexa’s favourites.

            “I just… I missed you.”

            “Well,” Lexa said, “I always miss you.”

            Somehow, Clarke snuggled closer, their noses touching, nudging, and lips so very near – she pecked them once, because she could, feeling greedy and needy. She breathed and watched Lexa twitch a smile, and eyes flutter, tired and sleepy, and entirely too lovely. Their love was slow, sometimes, an enduring thing, deep and intimate, but no less filled with a quiet passion, and between the two of them Clarke was convinced Lexa loved more. But Clarke had moments, where her love burned high and hot and all-consuming; she was more heart on sleeve than Lexa, still, now that she had fallen, so deep and hard, and the woman was all too happy to comply with Clarke’s desire for contact and companionship. Like lungs remembering how much they loved that taste of air, they clung to each other, for all their independency would allow. Clarke wondered if her moments of clinginess, of need that verged almost on desperation, came from the fear of loss, of all those moments where Lexa’s life was so close to ending. She thought so. More, though, she knew, was just how utterly in love she continually was, how deeper she fell, with the commander of the new world. It was a constant thing, which had peaks, had souring highs.

            “Are you nervous?”

            “About?”

            “You’re going to be mine tomorrow.”

            Lexa’s eyes opened, looking at the blonde like she was everything, “I have always been yours.”

            “I can’t believe I’m marrying such a sap,” Clarke joked, quietly, smiling more, sharing it with Lexa, honestly not believing it.

            “You fell for my charms.”

            “Your dramatics.”

            Her eyes were stars, to Lexa, constellations to be mapped, and tomorrow, they would be hers to chart forever.

            “It was inevitable. You couldn’t help it,” she said, fully knowing that if anyone couldn’t have helped it, if anyone had no choice in this, it was her, was Lexa.

            “No…” Clarke admitted, soft and eyes searching, almost, “I don’t think I could.”

            Outside, the sun was lowering and casting that golden glow they loved upon them, through windows and drapes, and candles burned and the entirety of it all was pleasant, was warm, as Clarke admired this tender woman, this soul of the world.

            Lexa stared back, not that she could look anywhere, really, with how close they were. Unblinking, their eyes were intimate for a moment, one or two or three or maybe five. These were moments people fell in love in, fell more in love in. Lexa did not think she would ever stop falling, would ever stop feeling warm and happy and intimate and impassioned with Clarke, and tomorrow, officially, she would have the rest of her life of this feeling. She was terribly calm about it all, was surer of nothing else than tomorrow.

            “I’m not nervous. What’s one more tradition to change?”

            “We’ve really riled the whole system haven’t we,” Clarke grinned.

            “And you say I’m dramatic,” Lexa cheeked.

            “We’re quite a pair.”

            “Tomorrow we’ll be one, in the eyes of our people.”

            “Not two.”

            “Not two,” Lexa whispered.

            Clarke exhaled at the words, a sigh, a disbelief and awe. She shifted her hand up to Lexa’s neck, nape, and pulled her across the short distance, lips pressed together once more, once a many. Their eyes were shut and nothing else existed; nothing; Clarke kissed Lexa, wanting more, always, but parted, though left her hand, left her forehead against Lexa’s forehead. All contact and no space.

            “I can’t believe the Commander’s never married before.”

            Lexa hummed, “They were taught love is weakness.”

            “Only if you let it be.”

            “Mm,” Lexa chuckled, low and sleepy, “yes. What was that quote?”

            “Which one?”

            “The Alchemist. Love. _When we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too_. That’s something.”

            “We changed everything, huh?” Clarke was smiling again, though Lexa didn’t see, only knew from Clarke’s voice, could _hear_ the smile, the tired, happy words.

            “You make me better,” Lexa said, reverently.

            “We’re better together.”

            “You’re the light of my life.”

            “Such a sap,” Clarke sighed, shifted so her head was nuzzled into Lexa’s shoulder, kissed her there.

            Lexa held this larger than life woman and almost trembled at the love for her as they fell asleep.

           

 

            It was just Clarke and her mother now, in the room. Raven and Octavia had left, preparations elsewhere. Clarke sat in her dress, simple enough but beautiful, and that would cause Lexa to have to breath in that way that she does, that Clarke loves, that secretly turns her on.

            She sat on cushioned stool as Abby fixed her hair and there was a comfortable silence, the two enjoying the peace and calm.

            “You look so beautiful,” her mother said, once finished, and Clarke huffed a smile, feeling tears.

            “Thanks Mum.”

            “How are you feeling?”

            “Emotional. Nervous. Scared,” she felt Abby squeeze her shoulders, and Clarke sent a watery smile her way in the mirrors reflection, “I just… I never thought – never imagined anything like this,” she went on, shaking her head, her voice cracking slightly and tears falling silently, “when I came to the ground. I’m getting _married,_ ” Clarke laughed, “and… and it’s just a formality but, it’s still special, you know? And I just… never thought it would happen. I never imagined it. Those early months were so violent. But we’ve come _so_ far, Mum. And it feels so surreal because… I never imagined finding Lexa on the ground. Finding love like this. And this day. And… and I think of all this and I think about Dad, how much I wish he was here,” she cried.

            Abby’s eyes were watering too, by the end, and she was nodding, and crouched down as she turned Clarke to her, took her daughters hands in her own, fought tears, and said strongly,

            “He would be so _proud_ of you Clarke.”

            “Do you think he would have loved Lexa?”

            “Honey, if he saw how happy she makes you, if he saw how that woman looks at you, how much you love her…” Abby sniffed a wide smile, nodded, “which, I like to think he has, I don’t know how he couldn’t. How _anyone_ couldn’t.”

            Clarke smiled, small, thankful.

            “You know I’m happy for you Mum, with Marcus. He’s a good man.”

            “And I’m so happy for you Clarke, so happy. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see this day, so I’m a little scared and emotional too. You’re my baby girl –”

            “ _Mum_.”

            “I know, I know,” Abby chuckled, “but no matter how much you grow or what you do, you are. You’re my baby girl,” she said, quickly kissed Clarke’s forehead, stayed a moment, then leant back to look at her, “And I’m officially letting you go today. But it’s okay because I’m letting you go into the best of hands. Because if soulmates exist, you and Lexa are it honey.”

            Heart bursting and lungs heavy, emotional and crying and full of thanks and love, Clarke nodded and embraced her mother, so, _so_ grateful, and unbelievably joyous. She held on for dear life, she was a bundle of nerves, already feeling too much and the day had barely started.

 

            They all went away once Clarke saw her. She barely focused on anything other than Lexa, and Lexa, well, she was gazing at the universe, was awed and inspired and captivated by the girl that fallen from the sky and into her life. Clarke saw it all, smiled small as Lexa swallowed.

            They held hands throughout it all, and their eyes never left each other, and for once, all the room could witness the commander, this warlord, this fierce and wild god-like of a person born of blood and violence, and yet preached peace and harmony, be just a woman. They could witness the smallest of smiles, still so full and sincere and lacking in nothing to Clarke. It was one of those moments where Clarke felt Lexa’s devotion, her love, as if it was a physical thing she could touch and taste and devour; so palpable it was to her. And when Lexa cried silent, almost invisible tears, she had to fight the urge to kiss her then.

            Around her, things happened. Of both English and Trigedaslang, words were said and vows taken and there was a string of binding around clasped hands, and an exchange of rings, a drinking from a cup, a drawing of paint on each other’s face – a mix of skaikru and trikru traditions, with Titus and Marcus acting as priests. There were a whole assortment of short things that barely registered Clarke’s mind, and Lexa was just scraping for awareness outside the blonde herself, and it was with growing impatience but expert control and calm Clarke was waiting to kiss Lexa, even if just for a moment, suddenly aching to do so.

            Still, it had to wait a little longer, as Marcus had some final words: a passage. Clarke shouldn’t have been surprised from which book. Marcus fell just as in love with it as Lexa, and as he spoke Clarke absorbed the words and smiled, and Lexa gazed into those shining sky eyes, and like astronomy in reverse, she felt discovered.

            “ _We are travellers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.”_

            And the precious moment was this, was the entirety of them, of her and Lexa, and it was the kiss that followed, sweet, soft, tender, that which had Clarke breathing again, had feel like this was home; and it was the claps that roared within the room, the ringing of a bell that was heard from the depths of Polis and like lightning the sound thundered across the city; and it was Raven yelling ‘yes, about time!’ and the mix of laughs and grumbles at the clash and tangling of culture and tradition, but all-around good cheer. It was going around and receiving congratulations from ambassadors and friends and all going down to the party, and it was the whole city alight in celebration and festivities and it was Clarke knowing, with her entire existence, that this was a turning point in their history, in the history of the world; and it was all the politics and the greater implications to this union falling away like shooting stars, until it was just Clarke, and just Lexa, and it was perfect.

 

            “We wanted it to be a small thing,” Clarke said, sipping her wine.

            Her eyes followed Lexa, as the commander smiled and shook hands with her people, their people. All the while she stole glances at Clarke, who smiled and adored, not even thinking about all the lovely things they would be doing to each other later. Though, those thoughts popped in on the occasion, had since she saw Lexa in that dress, wondered if it would be appropriate to steal a quickie, somewhere.

            “You’d think if anyone could get what they wanted it’d be the Commander,” Raven mused, sighing and happy, and Clarke enjoyed the company.

            “First commander wedding as far as we know, that’s a big deal for everyone,” Octavia chipped in, quiet and hands protective over her stomach, that was round, was a good way in, and Clarke was excited for it.

            “Remember over two years ago when we crashed this joint.”

            “You mean Earth, Raven?”

            “Yeah.”           

            “You didn’t crash with us,” Octavia pointed out, smiling.

            “Whatever. What I mean is who would’ve thought we’d be here? Everyone’s happy. No war. You’re both hitched, and O is seriously cooking in her oven.”

            “You and Bellamy,” Clarke grinned, added, and Raven was shameless in her smile.

            “Yeah.”           

            “How is that going, now that you’re official?”

            “Surprisingly?” she said, sincere and almost shy, “Good. He… he treats me right.”

            “If he doesn’t, I can smack him around for you,” Octavia offered.

            “Speaking of the devil,” Clarke said.

            “Ladies,” Bellamy greeted, standing across from them, the table in-between.

            “Bell.”

            “Brother.”

            “Babe.”

            Chuckling at the chorus of hello’s, he smiled, stole grapes from Raven’s plate and she shook her head, fought swatting his hand away.

            “How are you all doing this fine evening?”

            “Well, I’m super pregnant so,” his sister shrugged, smiled.

            “I’m just wondering when it’s socially acceptable to have sex with my wife.”

            He chocked, coughed deep, a grape stuck in his throat.

            “Wrong hole,” he managed.

            “Easy there, tiger,” Raven grinned, and the girls laughed.

            “How about we go dance?” Bellamy recovered, charming, but honest, because it was his intention all along.

            Raven rolled her eyes, secretly pleased, smiled, rose and went a little around and accepted his offered hand.

            “I guess I’ll see you around, Chief,” Raven called back to Clarke, who smiled and turned to Octavia.

            “How long till they seal the deal do you think?”

            “Those two? Probably five months to two years, give or take. Raven would probably have to do tell him to do it. Bellamy gets too nervous or jumps the gun, so he’d wait it out trying to time it right.”

            “Sounds about right,” Clarke laughed.

            “Hey, what about you, how are you feeling, really? And not just horny.”

            She had come a long way, with Octavia, and out of everything, the warrior becoming one of her best friends, her closest other than Lexa, was the least expected. But then, it made sense, in the end. They both felt trapped in the sky, and both fell in love with the ground, found themselves fully actualised, here, found home, found living, found love and their soulmates. They were the first to fully immerse in grounder life, and they both lived in Polis, while Bellamy and Raven lived in Arkadia, and while both still had a hotheadedness to their character, they both learned the ways of control and silence that came with merging with the grounders. Clarke would trust Octavia with anything, and she could be honest with her where she couldn’t with many. They had come a long way, and Clarke was immensely glad for it.

            “Like I can breathe,” Clarke sighed, rested her head against the head rest of the chair, the corners of her lips tugged up, “I feel like nothing has changed, but I can call her houmon. I can call her wife. And that means a lot. Like I finally have name to my feelings. And no matter what happens, history will record her as mine, and I, hers.”

            “I mean, you guys will be down in the books anyway.”

            “So will you.”

            “What were you two’s first words to each other again?”

            Clarke smirked wide, proud, “You’re the one.”

            “You two. Floating poetic and you didn’t even know each other.”

            “Lexa’s said she fell for me at first sight. Can you believe that sap?”

            “Honestly from what you’ve told me of her and what I glimpse to what I see in meetings – it’s like two different people. She goes all ‘commander’ and it’s intimidating as fuck, but then I think about shit you’ve told me and I have to fight cracking a smile.”

            “Yeah,” the blonde laughed, “these days though I just get a little turned on, if I’m not focused. She’s pretty hot, huh?”

            “You’d think you were the one that’s pregnant, not me, horny princess.”

            “How is the baby?”

            “Good. Healthy. Lincoln is convinced it’s a boy.”

            “Do you think so?”

            “Oh, no,” Octavia grinned, “she’s a girl alright. We fight about it quietly, but I think he secretly wants it to be a girl. And you, you thinking about kids?”

            “Only every time I walk in and watch her with the nightbloods, when we visit the orphanage,” Clarke shrugged, sipped from her wine, “She’s so good with them, O,” she went on, softly, lovingly, “Every time I think ‘that’s it, I couldn’t love her more’ she…”

            “Yeah,” Octavia nodded, once it was clear Clarke wouldn’t, probably couldn’t, finish her sentence, probably too wrapped up in the love she spoke of.

            Octavia would’ve liked to say she understood, and on some level she did, but there was something that bound Lexa and Clarke, bound them since they met, and it was undeniable, once you saw it, like a universal truth that could never be unlearned. She figured their souls had been tethered and completions of each other since before time, both aged and entangled in that as old as the universe way.

            “It’ll be awhile, though, before I speak to Mum about it. I want to enjoy married life.”

 

            For a little while more they talked, laughed a little while more, enjoyed the music and the wining and dining and chatted with people who passed and stopped and said hello, until to their delights Lincoln and Lexa appeared, stole their girls, and they were dancing.

            “Hey,” Clarke smiled, that small smile – Lexa’s favourite – arms wrapped around Lexa’s neck, and the warrior returned the expression, held the blonde close, hands on waste, swayed slowly.

            “Hi.”

            “I feel like I haven’t been with you all night, since our last dance and Titus stole you away.”

            “He was smiling for once,” Lexa chortled.

            “It was, honestly, a horrific sight.”

            “Clarke.”

            “Lexa,” the sky girl mocked, grinned.

            “I’ve missed you terribly.”

            “How about we get out of here?”

            “I want to dance with you though,” Lexa said, amused, got lost in Clarke’s eyes and coy smile.

            “We can dance in our room. C’mon, let’s ditch everyone.”

            “You like causing faux trouble too much.”

           

            Chuckling and grinning like two girls sneaking around, waiting to be caught and be in trouble, the newlyweds paced through the halls, ignoring the guards that smiled and shook their heads, amused, used to it all, happy that Heda was happy. They kissed and clutched at each other, impassioned, stopping against walls, until they finally made it to their room. So worked up, and wanting to make love and give bliss to the blonde, Lexa almost forgot about wanting to dance, never having felt so young. Almost.

            While all Clarke wanted was to spend the rest of the night in bed, the next day in bed, spend it in bliss and exhaustion of the best kind, she simply smiled and sighed as Lexa twirled her in, and they swayed together, half-hearted dancing. She smiled and sighed and rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder, nuzzled into the neck there, and Lexa was delighted, was smiling full, though Clarke missed it.

            “This is nice.”

            A kiss to her head, Lexa held closer.

            “I missed you.”

            “You did huh?”

            The commander felt the smile, felt her lips curve herself.

            “You know so, Clarke.”

            “You always miss me.”

            “Did you enjoy your time with Octavia and Raven?”

            “Hm. It was nice, having all three of us around these couple of days. It was nice seeing everyone. Seeing them happy.”

            Lexa shifted, causing Clarke to move her head so Lexa’s face was all she could see, so Lexa was all she could process, feeling the woman nudge her nose, feeling those lips, tender and gentle, brush against her own, a ghost of a kiss. Lexa fought the impulse to kiss deeper, to kiss more at all.

            “You’re my houmon.”

            “Say it again,” Clarke grinned into Lexa’s neck.

            “Houmon. Hodnes.”

            “Means I’m the boss now. Everyone has to listen to me.”

            “No, I’m Heda,” Lexa smiled.

            “Alright, you have to listen to me.”

            “So long as we’re a joint front, Clarke,” Lexa conceded, smile twitching to a smirk momentarily.

            “Hey.”

            “Hm,” she hummed.

            “Remember that time… you were really smooth and bowed to me, practically gave wedding vows then and there?”

            “What is it about today and remembering?”

            “I’m hopelessly in love with you, Lexa.”

            Caught heart in throat, they stopped swaying, and Clarke watched as Lexa looked at her, like she looked at her when Clarke kissed her that time, long ago, their second kiss, as she never dared hope she would have gotten to taste those lips again. She looked at her like she did many times, like she couldn’t believe herself so lucky, so blessed to gaze upon Clarke, and Clarke melted, thinking Lexa divinely beautiful.

            “We say it in so many ways,” Clarke went on, sure but soft, the moment suddenly feeling momentous and earth shattering, as if the whole universe was waiting on it, held in quiet suspense, “but it’s good to actually say it, to know it, for you to hear it every now and then. Because we’re soulmates,” Clarke nodded, a little shakily, swallowed, “and I _love_ you.”

            Lexa’s eyes watered, though no tears fell, and, forehead falling forward against Clarke’s, happy, truly, irreversibly, Lexa smiled wide. It stayed a moment, maybe one or two or three or maybe five, until it softened in that way, that small smile way that was uniquely Lexa’s. Her voice did not tremble with her tender reply, but if Clarke asked she would say her soul was bursting.

            “Sha. I love you too, Clarke.”

            “Good,” Clarke smiled and stepped away, “because I’m a bit tired of dancing.”

            “Is that so?”

            “I’ve got other things in mind.”

            “Tell me.”

            “Why don’t you chance a guess?”

            “Reading.”

            “No,” the blonde shook her head, closer to the bed and removing articles of closing.

            “Star-gazing? A game of chess?”

            “Nope, and get that smirk off your face. I wiped your ass clean last time.”

            “Lighting candles?”

            “Oh my god, _Lexa_ ,” Clarke chuckled, “come here and kiss me.”

            “So demanding.”

           


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke is pregnant. lexa worries, there are a lot 'i love you's and life is beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry this took so long, but as you can see it's a lot bigger of a word count (11.5k)! it had mostly been done for a good two weeks now but i got very lazy, so i'm sorry. this chapter is solely pregnant clarke, and so when i get around to it, i'll write the actual parenting in the next and probably final chapter (after lexark). if you guys still want that, i mean. regardless this work will still say complete because in way it is - like a collection of one shots of the same universe, i think. anyway so I hope you guys like it, as always this is for you. even if i feel like this was a long bunch of nothing, but, yeah enjoy!
> 
> darlingheda.tumblr.com
> 
> p.s. song lyrics are from the beautiful song Light by the beautiful Sleeping at Last

_May these words be the first_

_To find your ears_

_The world is brighter than the sun_

_Now that you’re here_

_Though your eyes will need some time to adjust_

_To the overwhelming light surrounding us,_

_/_

_I’ll give you everything I have_

_I’ll teach you everything I know_

_I promise I’ll do better_

_I will always hold you close_

_But I will learn to let you go_

_I promise I’ll do better_

_/_

_I will soften every edge,_

_I’ll hold the world to its best,_

_And I’ll do better._

_With every heartbeat I have left_

_I will defend your every breath,_

_And I’ll do better._

 

            There was quietness to the room that lingered and seeped in, a peace that followed in the hours of sleep after ecstasy and bliss that breathed, almost tangible. It settled between the furs and the flickering of few flames, from candles still burning, low and gentle. Softer and warmer still, like the bed they slept in, like their bodies, the contact and space they shared, was the morning light through drapes and windows. The light caressed and casted them a white golden glow, dim as it was in the early hour. The room was their haven, their own world, the candles their stars, the bed their home, and it was comfort, was calmness.

            Clarke felt Lexa’s breath, warm and hot and light, on the back of her neck, her nape, brushing the hair there; she felt it on her shoulder, slow and steady, tingling her skin. Her wife’s arm, strong, held her close even in sleep, as it often found itself there when the blonde returned from time away, yearning. Skimming on the edge of wakefulness, and still half in a dream, Clarke felt Lexa’s bare front against her bare back, felt the arm under her neck and pillow, and the hand that snaked around her waist, up her sternum and rested in-between.  She felt the sheets and furs sitting at the hips of them, too hot to cover them whole earlier but now allowing for a slight chill to crawl up Clarke’s body, unwelcomed, noticed. She breathed and sighed and shifted, one quarter of consciousness, turned and nudged Lexa, who was deep in slumber, enough so Clarke could curl into her, wanting the heat there, arm over stomach and chest and leg over leg, felt arms encircled on instinct. She breathed into Lexa’s neck and cheek, nestled there, and felt the warmth of Lexa’s own breath on her face. In her subsiding consciousness, Clarke thought nothing else existed outside of those steady and deep puffs of air, thought, abstractedly how it kept her alive as surely as her own heart, her own lungs; how it tethered to her own soul, and what a miraculous thing it was to share air with her, had the fleeting thought of kissing the warrior, before sleep soothed her, and her thoughts withered to slumbering subconsciousness.

 

            It was some while later, perhaps minutes, perhaps an hour or more, she felt the softness of a familiar texture on her skin, on her face; she felt lips touch gently to her forehead, a millimetre elsewhere, elsewhere and elsewhere, kissing everywhere, till they reached her nose, down to her cheek, to her jaw. There was no corner left untouched. She felt these pecks, felt the honey lips enough that she caught them when they ghosted her own lips, and she felt the twitch of a smile, had one of her own, sleepy as it was. Clarke sighed into the kiss, the mere touching of lips, for a moment, one or two or three or maybe five until she let them fall away in her tiredness, head dropping to shoulder and pillow. All the while her eyes remained closed; all the while feeling Lexa’s gaze, adoring and watching and waking her up, causing a small smile to blossom, eyes to eventually blink and welcome the morning.

            “Hey.”

            “Hi.”

             The pillow-talk, the raspy quietness of morning voices, the slumbering smiles that were minute, were beautiful – Lexa was in love with these things, these moments with Clarke. Without thought, she kissed the blonde again, once and then twice on the lips, with Clarke mumbling as Lexa settled.

            “What time is it?”

            “Not too late.”

            Turning on her back, supine, Clarke yawned, forearm over mouth and wanting nothing but to stay in bed, “What’s on the agenda today?”

            “Nothing,” Lexa said, shifting down, kissing Clarke’s stomach and settling, “just us. You were gone for a week.”

            “Mm. I missed home,” Clarke blinked down, ran fingers through Lexa’s hair and caressed her face.

            These touches, intimate, were her favourite thing.

            “What about me?”

            “You are my home.”

            A grin and kiss felt on her skin, Clarke closed her eyes as Lexa smiled and hugged her, felt that warm breath, comforting, relaxing and silence took over, was shared between them. Simply enjoying each other’s presence, they rested, basked in the morning heat, the sun’s touch gentle. But Lexa’s thoughts were not so quiet, were secretly mulling, slow as they wore to form in the morning haze.

            “What did Abby say?”

            “Really? This early?” the blonde sighed, opened her eyes and looked down, blue meeting green.

            “You didn’t tell me before.”

            “We were a bit busy before.”

            Coquettish, they shared smiles, and Lexa kissed up Clarke’s stomach, suckled and attended to breasts, briefly, enough to tease, to have blue eyes flutter close momentarily, until she was hovering, and Clarke was getting excited over the position, the proximity. Lexa settled on her, a weight, comfortable, kissed the blonde’s neck, the corners of the mouth.

            “What did she say?”

            “She said,” her wife sighed, distracted by lips and wandering hands, “there’s a way. That – ah, it’s – possible.”

            The fingers stopped, as did lips, as did the sun and time itself as Clarke opened her eyes to see Lexa looking at her, moss green orbs wide, her desire for pleasure forgotten, dissipated, at the expression there. Few times she’d seen that look; it left her in love every time.

            “It’s possible?”

            “Yeah.”

            “We can be parents?”

            “We can,” Clarke smiled.

            Lexa felt herself respond to it, elation of hope filling her, soaring, simultaneously felt herself stilling, anxious, as her heart became emotional, and she shifted off of Clarke, found her thoughts swimming in doubts, suddenly, so suddenly, in subconscious worries. Clarke’s smile waned into a frown as her wife moved off her, moved to the side with sheet falling from skin as the commander sat on the edge, eyes unseen, but darting. Clarke watched the movement and followed, shifted, scooted, till she could kiss Lexa’s shoulder, could trails fingers and hand down back and arm, rest at the waist and hold her larger than life love.

            “Lexa?”

            Troubled, she felt troubled, but at her name Lexa turned her face to Clarke’s, met the concern in her wife’s eyes, noticed the fear there, felt guilt for it.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “No Heda,” Lexa spoke, after a moment, licked her lips and furrowed her brows, looked down and up to Clarke’s listening gaze, her heart turbulent, words measured, “has ever had children, Clarke. None known. To be Heda was to be alone.”

            It was that phrase again; a previous precedent, no longer abided by, and yet still lingered like an old wives tale. For Clarke, it never ceased to break her heart, to cause it to ache and bleed and long to comfort, at hearing of how Lexa was raised, how life was until her, until them. It was a physical presence in her chest that squeezed, for Lexa’s pain was her own. Her hand shifted from Lexa’s waist to cheek, caressing the hair away there, thumb stroking as she leant forward and kissed the skin between eyebrow and hairline, lingered lips there, before resting forehead to forehead; all the while fighting the urge to kiss more, to comfort.

            “You’re not alone. Not anymore and never again.”

            “No, Clarke,” Lexa smiled, kissed Clarke’s hand and palmed her own against Clarke’s cheek, and her wife leaned into it, cherished it, “but I was still raised to be. I am the longest reigning commander, and I have been blessed in this, as I have in the life I share with you. And I want nothing more than to be a mother, with you, Clarke; to create life with you; to experience all life has to give, with you. I merely,” and here, Lexa paused, shuddered a breath, bottom lip trembling, dropped her hand to Clarke’s supporting wrist, “I did not think we could.”

            Slightly, Clarke’s lips upturned, enough to name it, the expression tinged with sadness, with love, and she kissed Lexa firmly, passionately; enough for the warrior to chase as Clarke shifted back, broke the kiss and laid down with Lexa following, moving, and leaning over Clarke again. Lexa watched and settled beside her, and they gazed toward the other, and their hands searched, intertwined, and held. In this they remained for moments, the silence comfortable, though expected to be broken, tentatively and with weight, with gravity.

            “What if something goes wrong?”

            At the whisper of a question, the beseeching and vulnerable voice, eyes, and the loveliness, Clarke inhaled, played with Lexa’s fingers, aware of the importance of the moment.

            “Do you remember when we were planning a war against Mount Weather? You were resting but I was…not,” the blonde huffed a smile, modest, “and I was going over everything?”

            “You were beautiful,” Lexa smiled, and Clarke blushed, bashful.

            “You said going over questions asked and answered was a waste of energy.”

            Lexa nodded, and Clarke shifted closer, “but we’re always going to be asking that question, Lexa, especially for this. A parent always worries. And something may go wrong… as it may always, in anything. But I love you,” the blonde revered, “and I want this. I don’t think we’d be any less happy if… if it doesn’t work out. Or gods forbid, if something happened to either of us. I’m not even pregnant yet. But we have a chance, a chance to increase our family, and I want to experience all life has to give with you _too_.”

            “It’s possible,” Lexa said, repeated, disbelief holding her heart and filling it with hope.

            “It’s possible,” Clarke nodded, grinned, “and it’ll be another first.”

            Lexa chuckled, “Is it your dream to change all our traditions Clarke?”

            Humming and happy, the blonde shook her head, “No… the ground was the dream. Then it was peace, protecting my people. Then it was… you,” she shrugged, “This; life more than surviving.”

            “Well,” Lexa licked her lips, sobered, eyes softening with her words, feeling them all too deeply, too acutely, “you’ve certainly succeeded.”

            “Let’s hope the record sticks,” Clarke smiled, adoring and besotted with her wife, “I’ve got a new dream now.”

            “Parents.”

            And the word lingered, momentous as the smiles they shared.

            “Yeah, parents.”

 

            “You’ve got the camera?”

            “Yes.”

            “You know how to use it, right?”

            “I’m not an idiot Clarke. What’s this for?”

            “Just hold it, be invisible, and film. We’re gonna freak her out.”

            Clarke was grinning for the whole of it as they walked and made way to the Commander’s throne room, was buzzing, heart hammering in her chest, her entire being alive, joyous and nervous. But she hid this, concealed the energy as best she could, eased her smile, called forth that grounder control instilled in her. Octavia watched and had a guess at what this all was, mouth twitching as she trailed behind Clarke, as the blonde entered doors and requested to the guards their leave.

            “Clarke?”

            From her stance over papers and maps and mulling of things of governance, Lexa had turned at the opening doors, pleasantly surprised and confused to see her wife; more so to see her discard the guards.  Dropping a scroll back onto the table, contents gone from her mind, Lexa walked to the centre of the room with a quick glance to Octavia, felt puzzlement at the object she was holding, but as quickly returned her focus to Clarke. With a look ghosting over blue eyes and lips, mischievous and mysterious, the blonde reached her half way; and Lexa stepped close, resisted the urge to kiss, to kiss lips and cheek and forehead. She settled for accepting Clarke’s grasping hand, tangled it with her own as thumb caringly caressed skin; soft, warm.

            “Hey.”

            “I thought you would be at the orphanage. The meeting isn’t for another hour, Clarke.”

            “I cancelled the meeting.”

            A clenched jaw, a slight uptilt of chin, a stilling of hand caress, all brief, was Lexa’s response – all barely noticeable. But Clarke knew these signs, these tells of feelings and thoughts, knew her wife was not pleased with Clarke’s overruling without her consultation. Still, Lexa knew it would not have been without just reason, knew this wouldn’t be seen as undermining her authority, not after so long. A joint front: that was what they were. So with her eyes she questioned, waited.

            Clarke gazed back, back into green that was her world, knew that it would shake, would change, with the next few moments, felt the nerves again all of a sudden and breathed, calm as she could, took Lexa’s other hand so she held both. This was an axis-changing moment, was a historical thing, she knew. She breathed, and she exhaled words that felt momentous, but were soft and light and all things beautiful and _oh_ , this was something, something revolutionary.

            “I’m pregnant.”

            She had whispered it, because it was precious knowledge, and it was comical, in a way, to Clarke. It was comical in how, as she uttered the words, they seemed outside of time; how time seemed to slow, to still, for them, for her; how she felt caressing thumbs stop and hands squeeze, and she saw green eyes widen, surprised and wonderstruck and saw an entirely new look that Clarke had never seen, had only seen looks close to, but never quite like then; she saw lips part and breath suspend itself and those wide eyes stay fixed on her own, dart between them, and she felt her own heart drum, soar and soar and a smile spread inevitably over her, possessed. She felt like a big bang, if she could name it.

            “You’re – ”

            “I’m sure.” Clarke nodded, eyes stinging.

            “Clarke.”

            Revered, awed and gentle, Lexa spoke her name; and how she wanted to love Lexa then, with hands and lips and words of worship and to dance as Lexa stepped even closer, hands on waist, soft yet firm and grounding, while Clarke’s own palm rose to paint-free cheeks, to hair and ear and nape.

            “We’re having a baby,” the blonde laughed, short and quiet, overjoyed as she watched Lexa’s own smile unfold, break free, its beauty blinding.

            Lexa grinned as wide as Clarke had ever seen her, and she laughed and lifted, hugged and spun Clarke, causing her wife to cry and laugh a little more, a little harder. She put her down and kissed her, a pure passionate press of lips, pouring all she could not convey through it; because she was utterly, unapologetically, _happy_ , in _love_ , and _living_ ; and it was all with _Clarke_. Lexa kissed and kissed and kissed; kissed lips and cheeks and face and neck as eyes watered, and she paused, breath shuddering, and kissed Clarke once more, softly, a promise, broke it with a smile.

            Emotional, heart caught in throat, there was pure adoration in her gaze, and Clarke watched fondly as she looked down at Clarke’s stomach, placed a hand there, warm, gentle, and she bent to her knees. The position reminisced Clarke of Lexa’s bow to her, so long ago, the devotion then, refrained as it was in the same room and perhaps in the same spot. She recalled the vow and thought of how it will extend to not just her needs, but their child’s needs; how Lexa was bowed closer to her, how animated her wife’s face was and how her eyes spoke poems and spoke love more than words, and their world was shaking, axis’s shifting; how their souls, tied eternally, bound them in this unexpected, great and grandiose joy, and it was captured, as Octavia smiled, continued to film it all and fought tears, thinking of her own family, felt the happiness, so alive and present it was.

            Lexa kissed Clarke’s stomach, kissed though fabric and lingered there, vow unspoken, and she looked up, devout, vulnerable and beautiful; she looked up to her heart, her sun and stars and whispered in wonder, and Clarke recognised this was a moment of immersion of her soul, hers and Lexa’s, into the universal current of life. She recognised this, catalogued it; burned the memory in her mind.

            “A baby.”

            And it echoed, it settled, and while the sun shone, light and warm and giving, and all life was happening outside of them still – this was a moment, and it was profound, it was pivotal, and it was striking.

 

            “How are you feeling?”

            “Well,” Clarke sighed, smiled and stretched, “you just gave me three orgasms, so pretty great.”

            The room was golden, was warm, and Clarke was basking in it, in the day and the moment, heart quieting from bliss. Relaxed and affectionate, she threaded fingers through dark hair and massaged, causing Lexa to hum as Lexa kissed Clarke’s inner thigh, moved up and kissed her stomach, softer; kissed once, twice before looking up and meeting her wife’s tender and exhausted gaze.

            “And you’re comfortable?”

            “Very.”

            “Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

            “Lexa, I’m only four weeks in,” the blonde said, amused, unsurprised by Lexa’s consideration.

            “A baby,” Lexa smiled, hugged and kissed her stomach again, nuzzled there, and Clarke chuckled.

            “Yeah, our baby.”

            “Ai yongon.”

            “You know my stomach is going to get bigger.”

            At the comment, Lexa looked up with eyebrows furrowed, baffled, “Obviously, Clarke.”

            “You won’t be able to rest your head there,” she explained, smiled as Lexa frowned, adorably so.

            “Aw,” Clarke laughed, short, chest vibrating, “don’t pout baby.”

            Lexa huffed, “I am not a baby,” and she buried her head down, mumbled and murmured to Clarke’s stomach.

            Clarke couldn’t hear exact words, but she watched, content, as Lexa kissed and whispered in Trigedasleng and English to their unborn, unformed child, predicted it would be a thing.

            “She can’t hear you yet, you know,” Clarke said, and Lexa stopped, tilted her head up.

            “She may be a he, Clarke.”

            “Sha,” she answered, softly, “I’ve got a feeling it’s a girl, though. Call it a mother’s intuition. Now come here.”

            “I’m a mother too,” Lexa countered, but obeyed, kissed up stomach and sternum and neck to jaw and delectable lips.

            “But you’re not pregnant, are you?” Clarke’s eyebrow quirked, with a small smile adorning her lips as Lexa’s own left them, and the warrior hovered, a curtain of hair to one side, smiling.

            “No.”

            “C’mere.”

            Lexa let her face be lowered, let lips find lips and felt Clarke’s sigh, caught it, let her body weight itself over Clarke’s. Hungry, their lips brushed and pulled, tongues probing, breathing heavying, and she lost herself in the sensation of friction, of slow grinding hips, of skin on skin, thighs in-between legs, only to tense, to scare and abruptly end the kiss.

            “I’m not hurting her?”

            “ _Lexa,_ ” Clarke chuckled and shook her head, “I’m only _four_ weeks. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

            Still, Lexa licked her lips, frowned and shifted, slide and hovered           off to Clarke’s side with her hand over stomach, aware of the life forming there and looked to Clarke.

            “And you’re comfortable?”

            “You’re cute when you worry.”

            “Clarke.”

            “Yes, I’m comfortable,” Clarke sighed, and Lexa settled, relaxed as Clarke caressed the lines away from her face, as Lexa kissed shoulder and rested her head near, faces intimately close. “I would tell you if I need anything.”

            “Do you promise?” Lexa whispered, eyes imploring.

            “Well you know how stubborn I can be,” Clarke said, shifted on her side, curled arms into chest, “but I also know you and how you’ll worry throughout this. So, I’ll tell you when I need something, and you’ll try not to freak out over everything, okay?”

            “Just try?”

            “Love, you won’t be able to do more than that.”

            “I could,” Lexa frowned, puffed and pouted, “You know I have excellent control over my feelings, Clarke.”

            “Around others, not me, remember?” Clarke smiled, leaned closer and feathered lips against lips, “I see right through you,” she murmured.

            With another kiss, a peck, Clarke sighed and rested her head down again, so close now their noises touched; and Lexa swallowed, had that look in her eyes; that look that Clarke recognised, of infinite adoration and entrancement, gentle and pure and heart reaching, and with that soft hunger that excited Clarke. She traced it back through all their times together and wondered how she had missed it in their beginning.

            “I love you.”

            “And I love you,” Clarke smiled, eyes soulful, and Lexa had to blink, “and when you love someone, you care, and you worry. And that’s okay.”

            “I know.”

            “I know you know,” she whispered back, “But we’re going to worry for two now, and you’re going to worry so much, too much.”

            “I just want you to be comfortable. I want everything to be okay, to be safe.” 

            “Everything is, and it will be.”

            “Okay.”

            “Trust me.”

            “I do trust you, Clarke. Always.”

 

            “She’s driving me up the wall, O.”

            “I thought you said it was cute.”

            “It was! It is!” Clarke groaned, frowned and painted, defined the features more on the canvas before sighing and turning to her friend, “It’s cute and lovely when she asks and when it’s like, _reasonable_. You know when she’s afraid she’s being too rough – ”

            “Really, Clarke?” Octavia scowled from the floor, playing with her daughter, long since not wanting details of Clarke’s sex life.

            “ – though sometimes that can kill the mood…” Clarke sighed, “or if I slept well, and when I get a craving… you know, it’s sweet, and I _love_ her but it’s like every minute! How are you feeling Clarke? Are you well? Are you resting enough, Clarke, exercising enough? Do you need anything? Don’t _stress_ Clarke. Clearly, I’m not the one stressing!” and here, Octavia coughed, “She has twice the guards on me too. I mean she’s… she’s respectful, she always is, it’s just so repetitive, and so, so, _argh_.”

            “Uh huh.”

            “And you know the worst of it, is how _horny_ I am – all the damn time, O.”

            “How is that different from before?”

            “Shut up,” Clarke reprimanded, went back to painting, and Octavia only smirked more, before looking down at her child between her legs, who smiled and played with her long hair. “I was calm about it before,” the blonde mused, jumbled, “I don’t know. It’s just – intensified. Whenever she says my name, the way she does… and, god, her armour did it for me before but now it – well it _really_ does it for me, you know?”

            “I really don’t.”

            “C’mon O, don’t tell me you weren’t jumping Lincoln whenever you could when you were pregnant.”

            “I was more the stubborn type, that still insisted to do everything.”

            “Lexa insists I do _nothing_. Well, nothing taxing. I’m lucky Lexa even lets me in on meetings still without a fuss. Kinda makes it worse though, half the time I think about going at it on that damn throne of hers.”

            “How many weeks are you?” Octavia looked up, curious, wanting to talk anything but about the sex life of her two commanders.

            “Twelve,” Clarke sighed, stepped back to examine the piece before continuing, “I’ll be showing soon.”

            “I was showing at twelve.”

            “You’re thinner than me though.”

            “True, and I still train.”

            “Lexa when she trains,” the blonde sighed wistfully, “now _that_ is a turn on.”

            “My daughter is here, Clarke.”

            “Please, Aurora is fine,” and the baby squealed happily as if to affirm the statement.

            “So you’re extra horny and Lexa is extra caring,” Octavia rolled her eyes, “What else is new?”

            “Other than Lexa baby-fortifying everything? Nothing. Oh, she reads to her – to the baby,” Clarke looked over and smiled, a fool in love, “She talks and reads to my stomach every night.”

            “That’s sweet.”

            “Yeah,” Clarke spoke softly and gazed at her work; at armour and red sash; at braided hair, strong jaw and earth eyes, at a goddess of war and peace personified, and she sighed, suddenly exhausted and wanting her wife, to simply be held, “yeah it is.”

 

            There was that silence and stillness that came with cleaning, with bathing after a long day, with just being. Clarke relished in it, the act, the ritual she had come to share with Lexa as calming as their time in their room, in their bed. Like rays of sunlight upon skin, the water was warm, was heated and perfect, and candles casted them aglow, and her muscles relaxed, lessened in tension and weariness oozed from her. For a while, she simply sat between Lexa’s legs, sat against her, sat with eyes closed and dozing as Lexa hugged her, arms around small yet growing stomach. She could have fallen sleep, she was so comfortable. But a kiss to the shoulder and a murmur of ‘hair’ to her ear, breath warm and tingling, caused her to shift forward slightly.

            Water tipped and poured down from her face, soaking hair, and she sighed as fingers shampooed her scalp, massaged there. So relaxing was the action Clarke caught Lexa’s wrist, clasped it gently and the fingers stopped, and Clarke turned. Wakefulness was easier occupied, and so with her own gentle regard, she met Lexa’s soft gaze, rotated fully to face her wife, tugged the woman closer and legs went over legs and Clarke smiled, toothless and tired but happy as she poured a cup of water over Lexa’s head. Her wife blinked and huffed and smiled, closed her own eyes a moment as Clarke, with palmed gel in hand, massaged her own hair, cleaned it, the soap turning foamy. Lexa indulged in the sensation a moment before her own hands returned to Clarke’s hair, and in peace they did this, rinsed each other. In peace, they exchanged smiles, gazes tender as they washed their bodies, any coiling desire tamed with the easiness of tiredness. Still they stole lazy kisses from each other, teased small touches, chuckled with small splashes.  
            When done, and water cooler and the night darker, Clarke stepped out and grabbed the bath towel, dried slowly, bending to dab legs first as Lexa watched, eyes dark and admiring and Clarke seducing. The blonde glanced up and smiled, coy, grinned as she threw the towel at Lexa, who caught it with a low chuckle, left the bath and dried herself while Clarke went to their drawer.

            It wasn’t long until Clarke felt arms wrap from behind, felt Lexa’s nakedness, the heat of her body and lips, soft, pressing a kiss to the shoulder.

            “I’m going to need larger tops to sleep in soon,” Clarke murmured, leaned back into the embrace.

            “How about no tops?”

            “Or that,” Clarke husked, smiled and turned, arms encasing around Lexa’s neck. “Raven radioed in by the way.”

            “So you’ll be going, then?”

            “ _We’ll_ be going. Don’t you want to see our baby?”

            “You know I do, Clarke.”

            “So it’s settled,” she sighed, nuzzled into neck, and Lexa hugged tighter.

            They stayed like this, still, naked and warmed by the other. Clarke focused on their breathing, the synchrony, the feathery touch of fingers that trailed down spine. They stayed like this for some moments, some minutes, before Clarke spoke, quiet.

            “Are you going to talk to me about what’s been bothering you?”

            A swallow, so subtle, as Lexa tensed, “Nothing’s been bothering me.”

            “Lexa,” Clarke pulled back, had that look, had those worry lines and frown, and Lexa looked elsewhere.

            “Let’s go to bed.”

            The arm around her dropped, taking the warmth with it as Lexa with a kiss to her forehead walked away, walked to and around the bed, slipping in, but sat upright, pillow comforting back.

            Clarke’s frown twitched, and she turned back to the drawer, grapping a dark top and placed it atop the surface as she grabbed a large white shirt of her own, comfortable, and slipped it on.

            “I thought we were past keeping things inside,” Clarke said, grabbed the other garment and walked over, threw it a little to Lexa and sat down.

            Gaze downcast, Lexa fiddled with it, “We are, Clarke. It’s nothing.”

            “Your feelings aren’t nothing,” Clarke insisted, softly, gaze concerned and caring as Lexa clothed, “You’ve been worrying, for weeks; and it’s not the cute kind.”

            At first, Clarke had mixed it in with Lexa’s over concern for her, for their child, endeared her for it. In the early weeks Lexa had been glowing, was thrilled, had felt powerful, felt herself lifted to the stars, though she concealed it well with others, having not yet announced to the world of Clarke’s change of condition, the extra life she now accounted for. Lexa became more loving, even when Clarke couldn’t think she could love more, and stomach kisses became a constant, as did kisses everywhere. And compliments, endearments, Lexa had taken to those, fearful of hormones; though, the warrior didn’t need to, nor did Clarke think she would fall to a negative perception of herself as her body enlarged, slowly, but surely. Still, the blonde smiled and blushed, shook her head and adored, and Lexa was eagerly receptive of Clarke’s increase of sexual drive, inconvenient though it sometimes was. Those were the early weeks, until Clarke noticed a subtle change, a subtle addition to all the love, a contemplative look, which tinged with seriousness, with worry, with fear. And Clarke had waited, patiently, for Lexa to talk, but the issue continued to be ignored, to be pushed aside and locked within her wife; and whatever it was, Clarke wouldn’t let it simmer any longer. So she waited then, breathed, as flames flickered and the silence lingered, until Lexa met her gaze, took her hand and swallowed, in the way that Lexa does, as if she was swallowing all her being.

            “You know I love you, Clarke.”

            “Yeah,” the blonde smiled, small, soft, leaned into Lexa’s palm that cupped and caressed her cheek.

            “I love you like I have loved nothing else, and there are no words to truly capture that, these feelings.”

            “And you know I feel the same.”

            “And I love our child,” Lexa smiled, eyes watery as hand moved to slightly plump stomach, “and the happiness that I feel is full, and seemingly limitless, when I think of the life we will build for her, together, in this world that we will shape, and make safe, for her. But I’m also afraid, Clarke.”

            Holding Lexa’s vulnerable gaze, Clarke took Lexa’s hand from her stomach and kissed it, shifted to lay down and rested head on pillow and pulled Lexa with her.

            “Is this you worrying more, about something going wrong?”

            “Yes… but not with the baby.”

            And Clarke knew, then, what it was, why Lexa sometimes looked so pensive in meetings, so apprehensive with any talk of violence or conflict with small leagues of criminals, and she sighed, exhausted but understanding.

            “She’s going to grow up with both her mums, Lex.”

            “I hope so, Clarke,” Lexa whispered, “But we’ve talked about how no Heda has ever had a family; a life worth living, and for all our peace, this world is still dangerous.”

            “Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?” Clarke joked, and Lexa smiled at the remembrance, and the tension left her, visibly as she breathed and shoulders relaxed. “Our position makes us targets,” Clarke continued, softly, “that won’t change with or without this baby, Lexa. You know that.”

            “I can’t help it.”

            “I know. I know no matter how much better and safer you’ll make this world… you’ll always worry, whenever there’s even a rumour of danger, and that’s okay. We talked about this, remember, months ago.”

            “I’m sorry I kept it in, this time,” Lexa apologised.

            “You’re okay,” Clarke smiled, leant forward and kissed her incorrigible wife.

            “You should rest now.”

            “Only because I’m tired,” she laughed, rotated so Lexa could spoon from behind, “I can’t wait just to have her out of me so I can back spoon again, even if she’s still small enough for this now.”

            “Me too,” Lexa smiled into her nape, breathed in vanilla, “and I don’t want you coming to meetings anymore.”

            “ _Lexa_.”

            “Clarke,” Lexa returned, ignored the hardness in Clarke’s tone, predicted it and snuggled more.

            “No one’s going to attack me in the throne room,” Clarke grumbled, “I’m not even that noticeable yet, my clothes cover up what bump there is pretty well.”

            “Yes, but that will change soon, and everyone will know.”

            “So they’ll know, and we’ll see if anyone is rude about it.”

            “Just rest.”

            “Fine,” Clarke huffed, “But we’re talking about this in the morning.”

            “Okay.”

 

            “Raven!”

            “Hey Princess,” the mechanic grinned, hugged the blonde, “long time no see.”

            “It’s great to see you,” Clarke said, smiling as she pulled back, and Raven smirked down to the bump.

            “Someone’s gained weight.”

            “Shut up,” Clarke laughed, shoved her friend.

            Behind her, she heard Lexa with the horses, talking to their escort, of arrangements for sleep and time spent; heard the closing of the gates, the greetings. Distractingly, Clarke enjoyed it; enjoyed the change of scenery, the pace of the day, and while Arkadia was never really her home, Clarke appreciated the life there, the air, and the evident contrast with that of Polis, was grateful for it. It was greener to her now, the grass, and it was timbered, mixed with metal for bones, and it stood well, stood as something unique but fitting. Perhaps, she could’ve lived there, in the fallen star, but her home was Lexa, and that would never change; hadn’t changed for eons, she believed.

            “How many weeks?”

            “Eighteen.”

            “Phew,” Raven whistled, hands on hips, “you’re a little bigger than expected at eighteen Princess.”

            “Yeah, she just…grew, in the last month, and I’ve been having cravings like crazy. Sorry we didn’t come sooner by the way, we got held up back home.”

            “It’s fine Clarke,” Raven grinned still, was happy, and Clarke could see it, couldn’t wait to catch up, “I mean it’s pretty undeniable now you’ve got a bun in the oven, so I take it the whole kingdom knows.”

            “Bun in the oven?” Lexa’s voice reached them.

            Raven’s eyes shifted to the warrior, dressed in commander attire, strong, though war paint free, and who now stood beside Clarke, a hand to the lower of the blonde’s back, that sneaked to the waist, smiled as the woman kissed Clarke’s temple; she watched as Clarke shifted subtly and minutely as if to return the kiss to the warriors cheek, or lips, but didn’t, so it only appeared as a small fidget. It always amused her, a little, to see Lexa affectionate, and it softened her to see these women, who would go down in history as marble and steel, so tender with the other. She remembered how strained it was, at the beginning, years ago to see Lexa and Clarke. For the life of her, she couldn’t summon any feelings of hate, of distain, that she once had, not even in memory; as if such feelings never existed at all. How time has shaped them, shaped everything, moulded and crafted their happiness through pain and struggle and compromise, to harmony, and living; and how she would have never have guessed any of it when she first fell from the heavens to the earth. She was almost floored by the thoughts.

            “Old world saying babe.”

            “I suppose it relates to pregnancy.”

            “You got that right, because the baby is cooking in there; hence bun in the oven. Clarke hasn’t taught you?”

            “She hasn’t taught me many sayings, no,” Lexa admitted, smiled softly to Clarke, who rolled her eyes, though returned the smile as Lexa squeezed her side, leaned a little more to her wife.

            “Well, I can teach you a few.”

            “I don’t think that’s such a great idea…” Clarke cautioned, wary, and Lexa’s brows furrowed in slight confusion.

            Raven only grinned more, turned and began walking to the ark, the married couple following.

            “I think it’s a great idea. Now, let’s see that girl.”

 

            The Ark itself made her uneasy, not accustomed to its metal walls, to its solidity, its prison structure. Few times she had been there with Clarke, and the uneasiness hadn’t ever really gone with more exposure. A sense of belonging, of life, made it better, the sound of children running and laughing, of people, of work; these things made it better. With each infrequent stay, she had accustomed herself to the halls and passages, to the whereabouts of most things. However, until then, she hadn’t ventured into the medical area. There hadn’t been a need for her to.

            Clarke was lying on an elevated couch-like chair; at least that was it looked like, to Lexa. She had changed clothes, or rather removed her jacket, so she was warmed only by a shirt that was presently lifted. Lexa almost swallowed at the sight, feeling protective, feeling proud of the swell of Clarke’s stomach, was attracted to the sight. Lexa always thought Clarke beautiful, had always desired Clarke, had thought of her as the most beautiful woman, and she found these thoughts constantly, found them intensify as Clarke’s pregnancy progressed. Clarke had taken to no longer sleeping with a shirt, and for that, Lexa was grateful. Even at the present moment, as Lexa sat by Clarke’s side, holding her hand, Lexa wanted to touch and hold her wife, the life that grew in her.

            They were waiting for Abby in the meantime, quietly and patiently; though Raven could’ve examined Clarke, at least to point of using the machine – considering the mechanic ‘fixed one up’ as she recalled hearing.

            “Thanks for this Raven.”

            “Well, it’s no problem. I got motivated.”

            Clarke grinned at the words, eyes knowing, “So… it’s true then?”

            Where she stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, Raven didn’t know whether to scowl or grin, to laugh or shrug nonchalantly. She settled for a light chuckle, a soft smile and kicking at the floor.

            “Yeah… Got knocked up.”

            “Congratulations, Raven,” Lexa smiled, and the mechanic blinked, felt surprisingly honoured, begrudgingly pleased and grateful, and sent a smile the commander’s way. 

            “Does Bellamy know?”

            “After I worked this together and got Abby to look at me, and you know, made sure it was okay, given the strain on my spine I told him.”

            “Did you film it?” Lexa asked, “Clarke had Octavia film her reveal to me, for memories,” and the memory flashed in Lexa’s mind, the blinding happiness that had possessed her then, “The device is fascinating.”

            “Oh I would pay to see that,” Raven chortled, “but nah, though maybe I should’ve. I basically told him to just pop the question now that he’d put a baby in me, cause’ I knew he had been waiting. His face was priceless. Bell asked right after, had a ring ready and everything, here,” and the woman lifted the necklace from under her shirt, revealing a silver, melded ring.

            “Oh my god, Raven! This would’ve been a month ago,” Clarke grinned, and Raven shrugged.

            “Wanted to tell you in person,” she explained, “it still feels weird, and surreal. I never figured myself for the marrying type, you know?”

            “I get that. But if you’re with the right person… doesn’t feel like a big deal at all,” and Clarke squeezed Lexa’s hand, glanced to her, shared a smile.

            “When is the wedding?” Lexa asked.

            “Oh, months away. I’ll at least be twenty weeks in, before anything. You’d be ripe for picking by then Clarke.”

            “Well, okay, but I don’t know why you’d risk my water breaking at your wedding.”

            “Don’t jinx it Princess.”

            It was then Abby emerged, all eyes turning to the door as it opened, and Clarke brightened, rose and hugged her mother, who clung and smiled.

            “How’s my baby girl?”

            “Pregnant, here to see if all’s okay.”

            “You should’ve come earlier,” Abby chided playfully as she pulled away, squeezed Clarke’s hand and looked over, how she missed her daughter. “And how are you Lexa?”

            “Well, thank you.”

            “She worries,” Clarke smiled, cheeked as she turned and sat back down, finding Lexa’s hand again.

            “Well she’s married to you, so it’s hard not to.”

            “Mum,” and they all chuckled.

            “Okay, let’s have a look.”

            And then there was gel, was the workings of the machine, and there was a suspense, a silence, as they all stared at a screen currently blank. Lexa watched, waited as Abby rubbed the ‘scanner’ as it was called across Clarke’s stomach. For a moment she was worried, not knowing what it was, if it was safe, and sensing her weariness Clarke clasped her hand tighter, shared a fond, anticipatory and hopeful look with her. Lexa watched as an image formed, blinked, pixelated, and Lexa’s breath caught.

            She didn’t know what she was seeing, exactly, only that it was her child, unformed still, but hers, alive; and when she heard not one, but two, heartbeats reach her ears, her entire world shifted, her own heart skipped, and her blood pulsated, and her chest expanded, felt full, felt it would implode from this strange but wonderful feeling that seeped through her rib cages.

            “Do you hear that Lexa?” Clarke whispered, looked away from the screen and watched her wife, whose own eyes were watering, were transfixed on the image.

            The heartbeats drummed quietly, strongly, within the room; steady counts of ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. The rhythm echoed infinitely to Lexa’s own ears, and she could barely comprehend anything else. Her lungs felt dry, felt lodged, and Lexa had to breathe, to swallow, tried and blinked the tears away as she forced her eyes to Clarke’s, who was the sun, bright and warm and constant, giver of life. Her sun was smiling at her, softly, with adoration, with sky eyes wet and sparkling; Lexa, caught in orbit, was solely tethered to reality by Clarke, whom with a slight gasp of a laugh escaping delectable lips, a hiccup of happiness, and inhale of steady breath, squeezed their clasped hands.

            “We’re having twins.”

 _Twins_ , she heard, sensationally stupefied and wonderstruck as she registered the word – the whisper of it in her mind.

_Twins..._

 

            And when the machine and magic images was off, and heartbeats no longer encased her senses, Lexa kissed Clarke’s stomach, kissed it twice.

 

            Abdominal kisses, then, became a constant prayer of worship: twice in the morning, twice whenever alone and Lexa greeted her, and twice before slumber. Devotedly, these kisses were given; and as stomach grew with life and bodies formed though unborn, Lexa somehow became tenderer, more reverent, and Clarke adored her for it.

            She noticed how Lexa became further determined, set and precise, hours and hours working with clan leaders and her people, on a long mission of bettering the world; so much so Clarke often had to scold her, tell her to rest, to take care of herself as much as she did Clarke; and Lexa would sigh, would release the tension in her shoulders and gravitate to Clarke, fall into the blonde. Sometimes, she would refute it, and ire Clarke in doing so, moments where an immovable object faced an unstoppable force. Lexa admired Clarke in those moments, for her wife had a fierce fire to her, and Lexa was sure she would let herself burn to it. Even still, inevitably, Lexa listened, and despite it all, despite the stress Lexa burdened as armour, battled daily and unnecessarily, Clarke cherished those moments. They made her smile softly, tiredly, too grateful to exist.

            There were other moments, though, where Clarke would be irritable for no reason; she would frown and grumble and glare and fume silently, a wire ready to snap, coiled tightly. Existence was irritable then. The way ambassadors would sit, the way some girl or boy would glance and giggle and blush as their Heda walked by and Clarke would have spurts of jealousy run hot and powerful – popping through her veins, unwarranted and foolish because Lexa was so clearly _hers_. How sometimes Lexa could be utterly oblivious to things, how desperately she wanted Lexa at times, how a painting or drawing just wasn’t quite right – she found these irritable; how she couldn’t experience the numbing bubbly bliss of intoxication, how she craved some otherwise god _awful_ food; how the smells of everything suddenly changed, jarring, how _sunny_ a goddamn day was, how _cold_ another day was, how people just wouldn’t _shof op_ and _how_ is it fair how amazing Lexa always looks? She found all these things irritable, in other moments, and Lexa would worry if she offended Clarke in anyway, and the tide of her soul would settle, suddenly by the consideration. Hormones, Clarke had learned, were possessive, invading the senses and rewiring her nerves until they untangled themselves and she felt herself again. Lexa was quick to recognise times of such possession.

            There was a moment, a night, when Clarke woke, heart pounding in her ears and beating against her rib cage because of a foreign feeling. It was a sensation that originated from within her and _oh._

            “Lexa!”

            The brunette mumbled, non-committal, so tired, because that day had been long and other activities of hands and limps and lips and tongue were pleasurably exhausting; and Clarke almost felt bad, but,

            “Lexa, wake up.”

            And Lexa shifted at the nudging, blinked, though eyes remained shut, and Clarke huffed and grabbed her wife’s hand and placed it to her pregnant stomach; not a moment later Lexa’s eyes opened, widened with a hitch of breath and Clarke watched as Lexa’s gaze stayed focused on her own, relishing the quietness of the scene. Her warrior of a wife’s hand, warm and gentle, rested and felt the signs of life within Clarke; and Lexa felt a smile, unbidden, form, sleepy and beautiful and Clarke rested down on her back, shared the upturn of lips with her. She watched as Lexa looked down and shifted up and over enough to kiss, twice, heard a whisper of,

            “Nomon ste hir,” and the kicks calmed, miraculously, as if hearing.

            Lexa settled down again, closer to Clarke, half on her, and kissed her wife, hands to cheeks and lips feathery, a soft brush that fell away to pecks on cheeks, to jaw, and to lips again as Lexa rested her head with contented sleep, faces so close that noses touched, the sensation of her unborn kicking tingling against her fingers, and swelling her heart large and full.

 

            There were days, were moments, consequently, of amusement when Clarke watched as Lexa bristled, tensed and prowled silently whenever anyone touched her stomach, wanting to bless the life there, and Clarke would have to kiss and calm her boiling wife, ease the worry. She would kiss cheek and neck and nudge noses and peck lips until Lexa responded, gentle but with quiet possessiveness. Few were the commander comfortable with placing a hand on Clarke, on her children; and Clarke could count the number of people on one hand. It was a privilege granted sparsely to her mother, Abby, to Indra, whom had undoubted loyalty, and surprisingly Monty, and to –

            “Aden!”

            As the door clicked and opened, Clarke had looked up from her lounging on the couch, and was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar hue of yellow, to see blue eyes light, and smile evident.

            “Hei,” he grinned, the expression contagious as he opened the door fully, closing it after walking himself in.

            A man of eighteen now, Aden was taller, had a growth spurt, was lean and handsome; was a golden boy, and Clarke was so happy to see him. A strange juxtaposition, Aden was both like son and younger brother to her, as Lexa was both a mother and sisterly figure to him, but what mattered was he was important, was loved as both, as neither, for Clarke never lingered on labels. Only that he was important, was family, and she returned the smile, set aside the book she was reading and rose, groaning at doing so, met him with a hug.

            “I thought you were coming back in a few days.”

            “I wanted to surprise you, and look – you’re so big,” he cheeked, and Clarke scoffed and swatted his head.

            “Ow,” he said, but laughed.

            “Serves you right,” Clarke smiled, returned to the couch, not wanting to stand too long. “How’s the farm?”

            “Good. I miss Polis.”

            “It’s a place worthy of missing, and it misses you too.”

            He nodded as he sat across from her, the words heart-warming, and his eyes alighted at the chess board on the table, “But I like the freedom. It’s different.”

            “I imagine it would be. So, you’ll stick with that trade?”

            “Perhaps. I want to try various things. Let’s play, Clarke,” he gestured to the game, hand already moving to shift a piece.

            “Hey, white first buddy.”

            “I already know your first move,” he smiled, lop-sided.

            “Don’t get cocky,” Clarke chuckled.

 

            Lexa had heard of Aden’s return, felt mixed feelings of joy, of affront at not being seen first, but then warmth at knowing he would be with Clarke. And that was where she found him, when she entered her room, seemingly deep into a game of chess. Aden turned at the interruption, grin instantaneous and instinctual, and she felt pride, for him. She felt pride at the joy he was, unburdened as she was, free to choose his own path until the day where her time passes; and in this, a newer generation of natblida would overrule him, if that tradition was to continue at all, and, in this, she was happy.

            “Heda,” he greeted.

            “Aden,” she replied, nodded and smiled, noted his tallness as he rose and met her outreached arm with his own, clasped the forearms.

            It was only a moment of formal greeting when he suddenly yanked her into a hug, and she chuckled, low and deep. She had missed him. Not terribly, but fondly.

            “It’s good to see you Lexa,” he said, felt her return the embrace.

            “You’ve gotten taller,” she said, let go, and then her eyes went to Clarke.

            The blonde had a smile on her face. It was that smile that spoke of content and peace; and love. Clarke had her feet curled on the couch, and her hair was loose, a little wild. She was beautiful. Lexa could not help but be caught, and without intent she was already walking passed Aden, who shook his head and sat down again. He glanced and smiled as Lexa kissed Clarke’s forehead, then the corner of her mouth, her lips, and then bent further to kiss the stomach that was now large and round, was into the last trimester; kissed it twice.

            “Do you need anything?” he heard Lexa ask softly, face hovering and close to Clarke.

            The commander lifted her wife’s hand, that Aden hadn’t noticed had been holding Clarke’s own, and kissed it.

            “I’m good for now,” Clarke returned, just as softly, with a smile to match; though like the moons gentle light was still bright and luminous. “Sit. Aden’s about to win.”

            “Win?” Lexa raised an eyebrow, shifted to sit where Clarke’s legs previously occupied.

            “I’m tired,” Clarke defended, gentle, and she moved to rest her head to Lexa’s shoulder, with Lexa’s arm encasing her.

            “I thought you didn’t need anything.”

            “I don’t, I said so.”

            “Sleep is a need, Clarke,” and the blonde chuckled, didn’t refute Lexa.

            “Aden was telling me about his love life,” she said instead. “He’s got boys and girls fawning.”

            “Is that so?”

            Aden’s cheeks pinked, for all his bravado.

            “Hm. He’s been playing the field, literally and figuratively.”

            He huffed at Clarke’s grin, glanced away at Lexa’s inquisitive stare, felt his face heat a little as he moved a piece and effectively won the game.

            “It’s just fun,” he smiled, as if caught with a hand in the jar, cheeky, but it turned bashful and innocent as he looked down, looked up, swallowed a little, “there is someone.”

            And this was good, to Lexa, this was living, was liberating. Simply knowing, with quiet assurance, that Aden and his fellow natblida could experience intimacy with another, without guilt or shame or burden was a relief, a breath of fresh air. Love was not weakness, she affirmed to herself, and Aden will never know that phrase; and that was good.

            “Tell me about this someone,” Lexa smiled, welcoming, encouraging, and Clarke hummed as she felt hands scratch and massage scalp, and eyes fluttered close.

            “I…” Aden coughed, a little ahem, “I do not think they are to me what you two are to each other,” he began, because he was sure he would know it, acutely, on some level if he met his person, but he smiled none the less, “I only hope one day, I can experience such a love, but I feel for them that I have not felt with others.”

            Because the feelings he was feeling was still uplifting, and lovely, and this care made him strong, and he was smitten.

            “A young love perhaps?”

            He nodded and he grinned, and animatedly, he told of his passion for them.

 

            All the while Clarke quietly slumbered; her face nuzzled into warm neck, and when she woke it was to gentle whispers of her name, spoken with preciousness that still endeared her, spoken as if holy.

            “Clarke.”

            Her name, spoken low and like honey and velvet, wrapped around her consciousness and tugged. With a slight nudge, the blonde blinked, vision sharpening into focus; she groaned and mumbled and yawned. She had slept some hours, as the sky was darkening, blanketing itself as the sun was falling into its own sleep, and the room was golden by mostly candlelight. She realised this and blinked around, still waking, still dreaming.

            “Where’s Aden?”

            “He left a little ago.”

            “Why didn’t you wake me? I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

            “You will see him tomorrow,” Lexa said, face close as Clarke was still in her hold, “and you need rest. I only woke you because you are too heavy for me to carry.”

            “Are you saying I’m fat?” Clarke teased, not truly offended, and yet some hormonal, irrational part of her wondered.

            “No, Clarke. I’m saying I am weak,” Lexa smiled, eyes sparkling with mirth, too smart to play into the trap.

            Clarke laughed, the sound melodious, and shoved off Lexa’s shoulder. She rose from the couch, limbs tired and aching, and the act alone felt like defying gravity, felt heavy and she could not wait to reach her bed and curl there. She thought these thoughts as she stretched her arms, and felt Lexa stand behind her, felt arms wrap around and settle on stomach, and Clarke looked down, turned her head a little to Lexa, smiling. And like this they stood a moment, one or two or three or maybe five.

            Clarke would’ve fallen back asleep, standing there, leaning against Lexa, weren’t it for the kicks, and she chuckled.

            “They’re telling you to go to bed,” Lexa said, started gently nudging Clarke along.

            “What about dinner?”

            “Are you hungry?”

            “For you.”

            “Clarke, now isn’t the time for exhausting activities.”

            “Some grapes, then,” Clarke looked back, smiled, and started undressing, “Just a few.”

            Lexa didn’t leave, at first, simply stood and watched as Clarke shredded what loose clothing there was, enjoyed the little show of it. Clarke was a teaser, even mildly. She watched as a landscape of skin revealed itself, like a curtain unveiling, and her eyes roamed over flesh, over golden loose locks and collarbone, over breasts, larger, luscious and inviting, and the swell of Clarke’s stomach that made her proud, happy, hopeful. She watched and admired and swallowed her own energy; thought perhaps – no, Clarke is tired. But then – Lexa blinked away her musing, smiled to herself as Clarke glanced to her, eyes knowing, and slid under sheets. Lexa left then.

            When she returned, it was with a tray, and Clarke rolled her eyes at the excess. Two glasses of milk, an apple, slices of ham, and an abundance of grapes were all noted by Clarke, who sat up, eager and hungry as Lexa placed the platter on the bed.

            “Little more than just a few,” Clarke murmured, smirked and accepted a quick kiss to her lips, tasting a fruit there.

            “I want some grapes for myself,” Lexa explained, began changing into sleepwear, though it was not late enough for sleep itself, not for her.

            Mindless, Clarke ate, impulsive and greedy. Lexa watched amused as milk was sipped, gulped down, just one glass. Clarke continually picked at the grapes, devoured the ham and was about to snag the apple, licking her lips, if not for Lexa’s swatting.

            “No, that’s for the morning.”

            Coquettishly, cheekily, Clarke looked up, asked, “More grapes then?”

            Lexa’s eyes flicked to the bowl, now so little, huffed and sighed and a little peeved.

            “Do not eat all of them. Share,” Lexa said, left again, and when she returned, it was with grapes and cheese, and Clarke’s sparked at the sight.

            “You’re the best.”

            “And you are greedy,” Lexa smirked.

            “And I get away with it; good old pregnant perk,” Clarke replied, smiling as she reached for more food, “not a bad ride at all.”

 

            “Never again!”

            The room was full of groaning, screaming. Clarke was in pain, a storm of it, and Lexa could do nothing but watch and let her hand be squeezed till she was sure there was no blood flow, certain Clarke would break it. But she pushed her own discomfort aside, because Clarke was sweating, hair damp, and her face was contorted agony. It was the most in pain she had ever seen Clarke in, found she did not like it, didn’t want it at all, but understood that it is the nature of these things, with Clarke’s brows furrowed, mouth puffing out air, and sounds of trial echoing.

            There were some healers about, though Abby was here, sent for Polis as soon as news reached her of Clarke’s labour, and was now standing between Clarke’s open legs. Octavia was there, too, somewhere, Lexa didn’t know, but filming most probably – she hoped, and she may have heard Aden and Lincoln. It didn’t matter, her entire focus was Clarke.  

            “Breathe, Clarke, breathe and push,” Lexa said, felt her hand be squeezed further.

            “Easy for you to say,” Clarke hissed, groaned with her head back, “you don’t have two people inside you trying to – _god_ , never again.”

            “You can do this, Clarke,” she soothed, “you are strong.”

            “Shut up!” Clarke glared, breathed, inhaled and exhaled and struggled.

            “Okay,” Lexa nodded, kissed Clarke’s hand.

            “What? No – keep, keep talking, distract me dammit,” the blonde groaned loud and long.

            “What would you like to talk about?”

            “Anything!”

            “The meeting went well, resources with – ”

            “Fuck the meeting!”

            “Keep pushing Clarke,” Abby chimed in, one part amused and two parts focused, glanced up and shook her head, amused, thinking herself just the same as when she birthed Clarke, and Jake just as patient as Lexa.

            “Are you comfortable?” Lexa asked, wiping loose hair from Clarke’s forehead, received a look from Clarke

            “Do I look comfortable?” she grounded out.

            Lexa had to fight a smirk, because Clarke was already fiery and hormonal, but it was cute, to Lexa.

            “You’re beautiful.”

            “This is all your fault,” Clarke growled, and Lexa smiled then.

            “I love you.”

            Unbidden, Clarke’s eyes watered, and without anger or hardness said, “I love you too. This is so hard.”

            “I know,” and Lexa paused as Clarke pushed through haggard and grated breath, groaned again, “it will end soon. It takes as long as it takes," and here, Clarke croaked a laugh, and Lexa twitched a smirk. "You can do this, Clarke, keep breathing; keep pushing.”

            “I feel so tired.”

            Lexa smiled and kissed Clarke’s hand again, wanting so desperately to kiss lips instead, held Clarke’s gaze so the blonde would take in her words, “You are beautiful, and you’re birthing entire worlds right now. You are so strong.”

            “I love you so much,” Clarke said, cried and then screamed.

 

            There was little time to have a break after the first baby was born. There was a moment of cheer, of first relief and renewed strength at the success of the first birth, and then Abby immediately passed the girl to another healer to clean her up. Lexa wanted to go to her daughter, whose cries filled her with lightning, with power and pride, but she stayed with Clarke, encouraged her love, kissed and squeezed hands; and then with a final, loud, cry from Clarke, that Lexa was sure all of Polis could hear, would reach the heavens, their second daughter was born. Her cries were louder, stronger, and Lexa grinned, tears prickling her eyes to Clarke.

            “Lexa, would you like to cut the cord for her?” Abby asked, and Lexa looked back to Clarke who was already laid back, who looked stunning, saw her wife smile tiredly and breathily and nod and she went.

            It was surreal, and so simple: the cutting of the cord. Her daughter was wrapped and cleaned and then – with waited breath, she was in her arms. Small and precious, her daughter was in her arms, was safe, was beautiful, and Lexa was instantly in love, struck. She was crying.

            Laughing low and light, Lexa stared down at this wild thing in her arms, this foreign world, this gift, and she held her tenderly and with pristine delicacy. She looked up to Clarke and saw her wife holding their first born, and for a moment she cherished the scene: Clarke, gorgeous, tired, blonde hair a halo, smiling down lovingly to their little girl.       Lexa shuttered a breath at trying to hold in tears, to no avail, and Clarke looked up, her smile unchanging though now inviting, and Lexa walked carefully over. She sat down close to Clarke, on the bed, and Clarke’s smile widened at the girl in Lexa’s arms, eyes crinkled, feeling joyfulness.

            “Hey baby. My beautiful girls.”

            Lexa could not stop smiling, either minutely or largely, she could not stop. Her heart was turbulent with feelings of new heights, which she could not comprehend, so blinding was this happiness.

            “They’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispered, blinked at her tears, met Clarke’s hopeful and affectionate gaze.

            “Yeah, they are,” Clarke said, smiled over at the baby in Lexa’s arms, touching and holding small hand, before looking down to the girl in her own arms, “How is it possible to fall in love so quickly?”

            “I fell for you at – ”

            “First sight,” the blonde finished, grinned, because it was sappy, but brought her so much joy to hear now.

            “Look at you,” Clarke heard Lexa say, looked over to her warrior wife who stared down in wonderment at their second child, as if the infant was salvation, kissed the infants head, so careful, and then Lexa was looking at her, “We made this. Clarke, look at her, at them,” and Lexa was crying again, and Clarke leaned in so her forehead rested against Lexa’s, mindful of the bundle in her arms.

            “Yeah, we did.”

            “We made her. They’re so small.”

            “They’ll get bigger, stronger.”

            “Look at them,” Lexa said again.

            “Do you want to hold her Mum?” Clarke asked, looked up, saw her mother with tears, happy, choke a laugh and nod.

            Abby walked over and took the bundle from Clarke’s arms, and Clarke – she didn’t think she could feel more joy, from holding her daughters, from watching Lexa, but seeing her mother look so happy at her baby girl, a proud grandmother… that was something else.

            “What’s her name?” Abby asked.

            “Ana,” Clarke said, glanced to Aden as he came over by Lexa’s side and smiled down at the girl there.

            “Ana?”

            “After Anya,” Lexa explained, looked up to Abby and Ana, felt a moment of remembrance, of honour, for her mentor, felt a burst of affection for the child.

            Abby nodded at smiled and cooed at Ana, passed her back to Clarke.

            “And Ana’s sister?”

            “Lara,” Lexa smiled down at the girl, in love.

            “Your father would be so proud Clarke.”

            “When we have a boy,” Clarke said, felt her own eyes, that she thought were all teared spent, water again as she sniffled, and they fell and she couldn’t finish her words, for lungs felt constrained and dry and clogged and so she kissed Ana’s head.

            “Jake,” Lexa said then, shared her gaze with Abby when they saw tears stream down Clarke’s cheek, a moment of loss and sadness, “our son will be called Jake.”

            “We’ll wait though,” Clarke managed, smiled again.

            “Probably best,” Aden said, grinned, “you know what they say: two is a handful, three is a cr – ow!”

            “Cheeky,” Octavia smiled, free hand already lowered as Aden looked back to her, glanced at the camera in her hand and waved, causing the brunette to laugh.

            “Octavia,” Clarke sighed, leaned further back.

            “Hey Princess, how are you feeling?”

            “Tired. Happy. You said it was easy.”

            “Hey, not every birth is the same.”

            “You want to hold Ana?”

            “Sure.”

            And it went a little around, with Aden holding Lara, his niece, his sister, switching babies with Octavia; and Lincoln got a hold too, with little Aurora peering curiously, and Clarke rested, watched, with Lexa beside her and the two mothers already missing their girls, though not for long. They were left alone with their daughters, who were both quiet now, were resting, and Clarke would’ve so easily fallen asleep were it not for her desperate need to watch her two girls do the same, watch them slumber.

            “We’re parents,” Lexa whispered.

            “Yeah, yeah we are. It's real now, huh? It feels that way.”

            “They’re so little. Look at their hands, their toes – so small, Clarke.”

            “You were once this small,” Clarke chuckled, and Lexa shared a smile.

            “As were you.”

            “I love you, Lexa,” the blonde softly confessed, tired, “Thank you, for everything. This is… cheesy but I’m – I’m so grateful to love you, to be loved by you.”

            “You are very sappy,” Lexa’s eyes softened, pleased by the confession.

            “Shush. I can be sappy.”

            Lexa chuckled and kissed Clarke’s temple, kissed her face, “And I, Clarke, am eternally grateful that you fell from the sky and into my soul, and I love you more than one lifetime can let me express.”

            “Good thing we’ve got more lifetimes, then.”

            “Yes, an infinity of them.”

            And they sat, relaxed in silence and loving the new life in their arms, and Lexa enjoyed the moment, felt a new sense of tranquillity wash over her, warm, coaxing, and like with many moments of life, Lexa thought of a favoured book, words from there, felt them course through her being, that:

_“This is what we call love. When you are loved, you can do anything in creation. When you are loved, there is no need at all to understand what’s happening, because everything happens within you.”_

            And it made sense to her. It gave peace. Lexa did not comprehend, could not name, these feelings that were happening within her, but she needn’t to. She loved, wholly and tenderly, and was loved in return – and what a word that was: love. Enormous, it carried the weight of life, carried all assortments of feelings across the history of humanity, representing that which must have existed before words could name it, across languages and culture. It felt simple, but it was enough; and these children, small, so new and unaware, pure light, from their first breath she had fallen in love with, became part of her universe, became a part of her; and that truth was sewn into her veins, was stitched into skin, and she admired them and she adored Clarke, who was sleeping now, an angel.  

            She watched them with a deep peace, and what a dream it all seemed, and how wonderful it was that it wasn’t, how fantastical. She had never felt so grateful to live.

 

_‘Cause you are loved._

_You are loved more than you know._

_I hereby pledge all of my days_

_To prove it so._

_Though your heart is far too young to realise_

_The unimaginable light you hold inside._

_/_

_I’ll you give you everything I have._

_I’ll teach you everything I know._

_I promise I’ll do better._

_I will always hold you close,_

_But I will learn to let you go_

_I promise, I’ll do better._

_/_

_I will rearrange the stars,_

_Pull ‘em down to where you are._

_I promise, I’ll do better._

_With every heartbeat I have left,_

_I will defend your every breath._

_I promise I’ll do better_

**Author's Note:**

> darlingheda.tumblr.com
> 
> whatever you're feeling, in this or the show - you aren't alone.


End file.
